


The Unscripted Days Ahead

by 5354dandelion1134



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, Gratuitous Face Touching, Mommy Issues, Technological Incompetence As A Plot Device, The Other Final Frontier, The Time Directive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5354dandelion1134/pseuds/5354dandelion1134
Summary: Welcome to the 32nd century, Ash Tyler.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Ash Tyler | Voq
Comments: 43
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Object Lessons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19119919) by [strangeallure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure). 



> So, I’m new here. I barely know what I’m doing. But I’ve really enjoyed reading works focused on Star Trek: Discovery. And so, inspired by many of you, I thought I’d throw one up. In terms of inspiration, I should in particular mention Strange Allure and their incredible writing and all-around kindness. (There’s one chapter in my work where the portrayal of Ash Tyler derives a great deal from how they portrayed him in Object Lessons, though the premise of my story and the premise of theirs are, well, completely irreconcilable. Though if you are hoping for amazing sexy stuff, you'll be disappointed, I'm afraid.) 
> 
> My story is set after season two. I’ve incorporated some, but not all, of the elements suggested by the season three preview I’ve seen.
> 
> Anyway, thanks to any of you who take the time to read this – it’s appreciated.
> 
> Edited to say my plan is to post a chapter a day until the story is done. Why am I doing it this way? No clue. I really don't have any idea what I'm doing, lol.

“Okay, ready. Energize.” With that, her own command, Tilly is once more off the ship, down on the planet Discovery has been orbiting for weeks. The planet is Xahea, but it is radically changed from the planet Queen Me Hani Ika Hali Ka Po (or, as she was more commonly known, Po) led in the 23rd century. It is not just the planet that is different, but the whole universe. When Discovery landed 900 years in the future, trailing after Michael Burnham through the wormhole she created, they found dramatic changes. The Federation had shrunk radically, torn apart by resource competition. Despite Queen Po’s apparent ability to recrystalize dilithium in the 23rd century, an ability she chose not to share and which no one else was able to replicate, the scarce resource essential for warp was at the heart of disputes fracturing cultures and civilizations that had been, in some cases, aligned for generations. In a bid to resolve the competition and re-unite the Federation, Discovery was on a mission to determine if, some 900 years in the future, they could find clues to Po’s secret. 

Saying Discovery was on a mission was a bit of a stretch. With the Federation radically shrunk, the crew was operating more or less under its own auspices, charting its course in relation not to orders from the Federation of the 32nd century, but to the ideals that had guided the Federation in the 23rd. Discovery was operating with a skeleton crew, one patched together from those who had chosen to make the jump through the wormhole with Michael. The bridge crew and engineering were relatively intact, but beyond that, the ship’s complement was far less robust than it was previously. And it was of course far different to be an isolated starship in a diminished Federation than it was to be the 23rd century Discovery, valued asset in a robust Federation fleet. In many ways, the only thing that made sense to Discovery’s crew was their continuing mission, a constant in a radically transformed universe. 

For weeks, that mission had involved dispatching Tilly to the surface of Xahea in the belief she was the crewmember best positioned to track down Po’s work, given her personal friendship with the one-time queen of Xahea. It was dangerous work, given the planet had been invaded by warlords who based their power on their possession of the few existing dilithium incubators. The warlords were not made up of a single species, but dissidents from a variety of planets and cultures who were united by their determination to hold on to power by any means necessary – if not, it must be acknowledged, by cleverness. In many ways, it was the combination of ruthlessness and ineptitude that made it so hard to work directly with those currently in control of what had been, at one time, Queen Po’s planet.

The danger in Tilly’s mission to Xahea was only heightened by the decision to send her down alone, a decision made in consideration of Discovery’s limited crew complement. Michael understood Saru’s reasoning here, but she still found it hard to stand by while her crewmate, her friend, ventured repeatedly into hostile terrain. 

And so now, Michael, Saru, and the bridge crew waited uneasily for word from the planet. Today’s mission was the culmination of weeks of work. Tilly would attempt to retrieve a book -- a physical book, rare for the 23rd century, never mind the 32nd – believed to contain Po’s specs for the dilithium incubator. Tilly was providing them with periodic updates via the 23rd century communicators that, with some jerry-rigging, remained operational. There was far fancier tech available, but nothing was quite as secure as technology unrecognizable to anyone else, and so Saru had determined that as long as they remained operational, the old familiar communicators would stay in service. Tilly had described her ascent into a forested area, heading for the shrine in which she believed much-sought-after book was concealed. She’d described the flora and fauna she’d encountered, much of it relatively unchanged over centuries despite the militarization of the more-heavily-inhabited portions of Xahea. And now they were awaiting notice that she was beginning her approach to the shrine. 

“Tilly to Discovery. I’m going in as planned. I’m not too far from the shrine, so presuming the book is easy to find, it shouldn’t be long before I’m out. As soon as I’m beyond the communications jamming zone, I’ll let you know. And then it will take me a bit to exit the transporter jamming zone, but after that we’re home free.” 

They weren’t home free, far from it, but Saru nodded at her characteristic optimism. “We copy, cadet. Take care and re-establish communications as soon as you can.” Saru glanced at Michael, who sent him a tight smile. Waiting was hard, but hopefully the success of this mission was a step toward meaningful efforts to resolve the corrosive resource competition and restore the Federation. The crew set about their routine tasks as the minutes ticked by. 

“Discovery, come in.” The unexpected hail, crackling through on a channel threatening to break up, startled the entire bridge crew. Not only was it far too soon for Tilly to have completed her mission, but also the voice was clearly not Tilly’s, though it came through her communicator. The channel was choppy and broken, there was background noise – weapons? fighting? Michael turned rapidly to Saru, who quirked his head in alarm as he acknowledged the hail in a voice suddenly edged with tension. “Discovery here. Go ahead.”

“Tilly’s injured, badly. Beam us direct to sick bay – now, now!” The voice was panting, desperate. More weapons fire in the background only added to the urgency. 

Saru hesitated only a moment. “We’re beaming you up. Owosekun!” Owosekun, who in the context of the reduced crew complement now ran transported patched through her station, rapidly complied. “Saru to sickbay: Dr. Culber, Tilly is inbound. She’s injured, apparently. She may not be alone.”

“Got her, sir,” Owosekun reports, continuing to tap at her station. “She’s in sickbay. Also one other being who was physically in contact with her at the moment of transport.” 

“Security, proceed to sickbay immediately,” Saru orders over ship-wide communications. His quick glance at Michael sent her toward the turbolift. Michael was only too keen to comply with his silent order, concern for her friend one factor speeding her steps. “Owosekun,” Saru continues, “what can you tell us about this other person we’ve beamed aboard?” 

“Lifesigns appear stable. Unable to definitively determine species.” Owosekun hesitates slightly before continuing. “Perhaps it’s a problem with the sensors, but the computer is reading both Human and Klingon.” 

On hearing this, Saru lifts his eyes to the turbolift doors, which are closing in front of Micheal. The quick look they exchange was enough for him to know she heard. And that she was not surprised. The voice over the comm channel was familiar to her, as it was to Saru.


	2. Chapter 2

Michael arrives in sickbay to a chaotic scene. Tilly is spread on the floor, presumably where she re-materialized after transport. Dr. Culber is bent over her, tending to her multiple injuries. Staffing is thin in sickbay, as throughout the ship, but the security personnel who had arrived at Saru’s order are doing their best to assist with Tilly’s care, grabbing instruments and supplies in response to Culber’s orders. Even amid the crisis, Michael feels a quick flash of pride in this ship, this crew. Who remain committed to the mission, despite all challenges. Who are as dedicated to each other as to family. 

Michael’s instinct is to immediately leap in, to figure out how she can contribute, but she holds back. It is clear the issue is not insufficient help. Not with Culber here, not with the assistance he is getting from the others present. The involvement of the security staff in delivering medical care not only signals their commitment to helping their injured crewmate, but also indicates they had already determined there was no imminent threat to the ship or its crew. They’d determined this so rapidly because the person who had accompanied Tilly aboard was familiar to them, as he was to Michael. Ash Tyler. 

Michael’s eyes take in his profile even as he continues his involvement in Tilly’s care, providing pressure atop one of her wounds. He is clad in dark attire and bears the marks of the battle in which Tilly was injured, scrapes over his face and hands, tears in his clothing. His beard is trimmed, shorter than when she last saw him. His hair is still long, spilling around his face as he leans over Tilly. But in profile at least, the face it frames is different. Even considering the circumstances, beamed up in the midst of some sort of battle, tense as he works to support Culber’s ongoing efforts, Michael thinks he looks … better, perhaps. Fully engaged in the moment, in tune with other people as he works alongside them. A bit more like the Ash she first met, a bit less like the Ash to whom she said goodbye. 

It was a year since Michael last saw him, when he decided not to remain aboard Discovery in its jump to the future. When he looked at her, tired eyes pleading, and asked her to understand why he had to stay behind. They’d kissed, he’d cradled his face with the softest fingers, told her he loved her. And then she’d walked away and he hadn’t followed. Michael remembers striding down the passage, the distance between them growing, remembers deliberately reorienting herself toward the task ahead and away from the man silently watching her move determinedly away from him. 

But now he was here, holding Tilly, helping Culber. He would, of course. As a former chief of security, his job had long been keeping people safe. With Section 31, where Michael presumed he’d stayed after she and Discovery departed for the 32nd century, his mission would have been similar, if the methods less conventional, at least by Starfleet standards. Michael also knew that Tilly and Ash had always had a particular connection, one that had prompted Tilly to take the lead in reaching out to Ash after Voq had been excised from his neurological identity. In engaging with Ash as Ash, not as a Klingon in human skin, not as the murderer of a crewmate. 

Gradually, Culber’s orders diminish in number and his movements slow, taking on a pacing that makes clear the emergency has passed. Michael can wait no longer. “Doctor. How is she?”

Doctor Culber’s eyes flit briefly toward Michael before returning to the scanner he was now running up and down Tilly’s form. He nods as he speaks, as if the readings he is taking confirm the information he delivers. “She was severely injured from multiple weapons blasts. Significant blood loss, a close call. But she got here in time and she’ll recover. She’ll be unconscious for at least a few more hours.”

Michael lets out a sigh, glad to have her friend’s recovery confirmed, before refocusing. “When she wakes, we’ll need to speak with her as soon as possible.” 

“Of course.” Culber’s eyes shift from the tricorder, back to his patient, before lifting to the bearded man kneeling in front of him. A sharp swallow is the only chink in the doctor’s fierce professionalism as he looks in to the eyes of the man who had once broken his neck. Culber’s eyes are guarded, but not unsympathetic. He is a healer, after all. Someone who cares for broken people. “We can take it from here, Tyler.” 

Dismissed by the doctor, Ash rises and straightens, tugging his shirt before turning. He isn’t clad in a uniform, as far as Michael can tell, but the gesture is vintage Starfleet. Adjusting the garb before facing a fellow officer. And in the context of their particular history, the gesture amounts to a signal, though whether he means it to her or to himself, she is unsure. This is a professional encounter, one defined by duty and bounded by the presence of crewmates. Ash’s words as he turns toward her reflect his fierce hold on professionalism: “Commander Burnham.”

His body, however, also says other things. The long blink before lifting his gaze to hers, the swallow after addressing her. She knows him, can read him, a skill she still trusts despite their time apart. She feels this moment in the pit of her stomach, in the catch in her throat. There is surprise, of course, there is pleasure, certainly, but there are other feelings, too. 

In moments of crisis, Michael turns to duty, to the chain of command, to the mission. While fearing for her friend’s life, confidence in the skill of Doctor Culber, a highly trained physician, had provided a welcome crutch. Now, faced with a man she left behind, she is glad to lean on Starfleet formality. “Agent Tyler,” she says, the question she can hear in her own tone only appropriate, she silently reassures herself, considering his unexpected appearance in the 32nd century.

But the line between the professional and personal had always run thin between them. In response, whether to her tone or to something else, Ash draws toward her, his eyes large and taking her in, his lips parting. “Michael-” A beat, a breath.

With a step or two still between them, however, he breaks their gaze. His eyes flit around the med bay, perhaps rapidly cataloguing the changes from last time he’d been here, using them to reorient himself to time and place. A moment later, running his had along his shirt once more, he starts again in a different voice, one loud enough to encompass the others in the med day. “I need to talk to Discovery’s captain. Is that you?” 

“Saru’s the captain. I’m first officer.”

“He’s on the bridge? I should go there.” Ash starts to move toward the turbolift, navigating Discovery’s familiar layout with ease. “You should come, too.”


	3. Chapter 3

Michael exits the turbolift first, only too aware of Ash following closely behind. Across the bridge, heads turn toward them, registering Ash’s presence. Michael sees surprise and maybe something akin to pleasure on the faces of her colleagues, reactions not just to Ash but also to what he represents: a connection, however limited, with the 23rd century they had left behind but could not forget. 

Saru moves toward them, taking the lead as befitting a captain. “Agent Tyler,” he begins, allowing surprise to colour his voice. “What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“Mr. Saru. It is good to see you.” Michael sees Ash’s gaze flit across the bridge, taking in its complement. A small, tight smile spreads across his face, one behind which Michael thinks she sees both pleasure at being once more among his former crewmates and, maybe, a hint of the uncertainty that had coloured his relationships with some of them after the truth of what had happened to him in the Klingon war became apparent. 

Michael sees Ash deliberately re-center himself in the task at hand, return to the moment, before continuing to address Saru. “It’s actually Commander, now. With special responsibility for Section 31.”

Saru nods and smiles, automatically offering congratulations on the advance in rank. 

Ash shakes his head dismissively and gestures with one hand as if to brush the matter aside. “It’s only important insofar as it may make what I have to say a bit less … strange. I wonder if we might…” Ash inclines his head toward the ready room. Saru nods, indicates to Michael to follow. The three of them move in the direction Ash had signaled, the rest of the bridge crew unusually blatant in tracking them with their eyes. 

In the ready room, Saru stations himself behind a standing height table, Michael moving in behind him, and then turns to Ash. “Commander Tyler,” he begins, “it is a surprise to see you.”

Tyler nods. “Yes, I’d imagine. All time emissaries are under strict orders not to contact Discovery.”

Saru meets this with a characteristic head shake, one accompanied by a small sound that is distinctly Kelpien. The meaning is clear across species: Tyler should explain all of this to him and Michael. 

Ash reaches inside his jacket, removes a small chip. “All explanations are on this, which I was given in case something went wrong and I was obliged to make contact with Discovery. I can also offer a quick summary.” Ash takes a deep breath before continuing, swings his gaze between Saru and Michael, before addressing his explanation at the superior officer.

“When you left, when Discovery left, time travel was still understood as an unusual occurrence. Things changed pretty rapidly after your departure. The Federation’s contact with four-dimensional species increased exponentially, presumably as a delayed response to our engagement with the tardigrade and our use of spore-based travel. It’s become clear the mycelial network links not just all of space, not just alternate universes, but also all of time.”

“Additionally, since your departure, both the Federation and the Klingon Empire have been repeatedly subject to time attacks, efforts to alter the past in a bid to destabilize the 23rd century balance of power. The Federation and the Klingons are working collaboratively to find ways to defend against these attacks. But at this point, the attacks aren’t well enough understood to really begin that work. We’re not even sure if the attackers are moving through time via the mycelial network, through wormholes, or by some other route or technology.” 

“Trying to find out more has involved a joint effort by the Federation and the Empire, one that has involved a fair bit of time travel. A major component of this effort, one that Section 31 has overseen for the Federation, involves the time emissary program. Time emissaries travel forward or back in time in a purely investigatory function, with a mandate for information gathering and nothing else. Given my … unique … positioning in relation to the Klingons, I was among those chosen as emissaries.”

A test case once again, Michael thinks. Aloud, she asks, “So you are here now as a time emissary?” 

“Not really. My mission this time is a bit more … expansive. If I understand what Tilly was up to, I’m here for much the same reason as you: the book left behind by Queen Me Hani Ika Hali Ka Po. You are after it because it contains specs for a dilithium incubator, a technology to re-crystalize dilithium that no one else has been able to duplicate. I’m here because the Federation believes the incubator might also work on time crystals. Their very limited availability has rapidly become a sticking point in efforts to build relations with four-dimensional beings and, even more pressingly, defend against time attacks.”

Ash sighs before continuing. “Expansive mission or not, I’m here under a strict no-contact order, which I obviously breached. I … I just couldn’t let Tilly die.” His eyes flash to Michael before dropping to rest on the table before Saru. 

Saru gazes back at Ash, taking in what he has said. Michael, absorbing all of this with characteristic swiftness, is next to speak. “How do time emissaries travel? How, precisely, are you here?” She was a science officer, after all, with a specialty in quantum physics as well as xenoanthropology. She wanted the specifics.

“I came here through a wormhole, like all of you. With the help of some friendly four-dimensional species, Starfleet has developed technology to facilitate time travel for small vessels carrying limited numbers of living beings using time crystals, though the whole matter remains experimental. It’s all considered extremely high risk.” Shifting his eyes from Michael to Saru, he takes a deep breath before continuing: “That’s one reason there’s no thought of bringing Discovery home, back to the 23rd century.”

“I came to the 32nd century on my own, by shuttle, and the shuttle has technology that will make it possible for me to return to the 23rd century. To complete my mission, I need to bring the specs for the Queen’s incubator back with me.”

Ash turns back to Saru. “When you review the information on the chip, you’ll note that Starfleet has included instructions for contingencies like this, when time operatives are obliged to reveal themselves to … to permanent residents of the past or the future.” The last few words of the sentence sting a bit for all of them. “In such circumstances, operatives, as well as any collaborators they may enlist, are tasked with pursuing their mission while limiting the extent of time contamination.” 

Saru nods and draws a breath. “Noted. But we will want to bring a small number of senior officers into a discussion about how best to move forward with both missions, that of Discovery and that of Section 31. Before then, I’ll need to work through the materials from Starfleet and we’ll want to debrief Tilly. Mr. Tyler, would it be useful if I reviewed for you Discovery’s activities since our arrival in the 32nd century? Perhaps this would help establish a common frame of reference before we try to figure out what comes next.”

As Ash and Saru continue to talk, Michael allows her mind to wander. Uncharacteristically, rather than engaging further with the new scientific possibilities Ash has laid out, Michael’s mind drifts to the recent turbolift ride from sickbay to the bridge. Turbolifts are always odd places on starships: where officers and crew came into unusually close contact; where rival colleagues are obliged to spend uncomfortable minutes together; where professional obligations and personal lives, such as they are aboard a starship, brush up against each other. Michael and Ash were no exception to this general pattern. Michael remembers a ride to the bridge, where Ash’s eyes lingered on her lips, perhaps picturing an alternate time-line kiss neither of them could recall; she remembers an awkward ride after the service for their deceased crewmate Airiam, Ash gently reaching out to her and her rebuffing his overtures. Beyond the specifics, she thinks about what it means they had come together so often in a turbolift, quite literally a space in between, a vessel in motion, a moment not meant to last. 

But this time, the ride had been different. Neither of them had turned their bodies toward the door, the persistent custom traceable to elevator decorum on ancient Earth. They’d both immediately, automatically, turned inward, toward each other, as if that was the only thing to do. The door hissed closed. Ash’s hand came up to her cheek, rested there, soft as a kiss. He bit his lower lip, a characteristic gesture that never failed to bring out his dimples, whatever the emotion at play, and let his eyes come to rest on hers. An expression on his face not dissimilar from the last one she remembered before throwing herself through the wormhole as the red angel, an expression defined by both love and loss. 

Michael could feel it, feel all of it. The familiar touch to her face, one that had always tugged on parts of her she couldn’t herself always readily identify, let alone access. The thrill of seeing him, the memory of all they had left unresolved in light of her departure for the future and his decision to stay behind. The past, their past, unexpectedly laid before her once more. Michael had felt her hand flick toward the turbolift control, thinking for a moment, just a moment, to stop the lift’s motion. 

She didn’t, of course. There was a mission, there was information to be delivered to Saru, it might be of critical importance, otherwise why would Ash be here? Instead, her hand rose to his, fingers tracing along his knuckles before sliding down to tighten around his wrist. Her eyes closing, though whether in response to the turmoil inside her or the intensity in his eyes, she was not sure. 

“Michael.” Saru’s voice brings her back to the present, to the captain’s ready room. “Do you agree?” Both Saru and Ash are turned toward her, clearly awaiting a response. She rapidly replays the last moments of the conversation she’d been passively following. 

“Of course, Saru. I’ll connect with Dr. Culber and arrange a debriefing for Tilly as soon as the doctor feels she’ll be well enough to participate.”


	4. Chapter 4

Michael is moving swiftly around Tilly’s quarters, setting things up. Given Discovery’s reduced complement, crew quarters have been shuffled, and Michael and Tilly are no longer roommates. But they still spend lots of time together, mostly in the rooms Tilly retained, Michael still inclined to sprawl freely on what had once been her bed. Tilly had just a few hours ago been released from sickbay and had gone directly to a debriefing. In it, she had confirmed much of what Ash had already said. She remembered being fired on as she approached the shrine, being hit. She caught sight of Ash just before losing consciousness, at which point it seems he’d scooped her up and raced for the closest edge of the transporter jamming zone. 

Tilly had wanted to have the debriefing right away, knowing her input was essential for planning a next attempt to secure the book, but it was hard to relive a near-death experience, especially so soon. After, Michael walked her back to her quarters. As soon as they entered, Michael began issuing instructions about Tilly’s fluid consumption, her need to rest, and the arrangement of pillows most likely to support healing. Michael was laying out the importance of lowering the lights to speed head injury recovery when Tilly finally threw up her hands, giving up all protest and submitting to Michael’s ministrations. 

“Thank you, I appreciate this, I do. But it’s new to me, is all. I’m just not used to being fussed over. Being mothered.”

At these last words, Michael’s movements slow and her eyes find Tilly’s. Michael sinks down on what she still considers her bed. As a rule, Discovery’s crew avoids casual mentions of what – of who – they had left behind in the 23rd century. It amounts to an unspoken pact between them all. Loss, loneliness, grief – these are shared and discussed, but in carefully guarded, strictly bounded, moments. There are things to do in the 32nd century, important things; they can’t risk being unexpectedly knocked off mission by memory and melancholy, not their own or anyone else’s. 

“Oof.” Tilly exhales, holding Michael’s eyes for a moment before allowing her own to soften in focus and wander around the room. “You know I didn’t get on with my mother. I’m pretty sure that, a couple years ago, if someone had offered to separate us by a few hundred years, I would have thought that sounded pretty good.” A half smile, a chuckle of sorts. Tilly has started idly playing with her hair, the red curls cascading casually over her shoulders. “But these days I think of her more than I thought I would. She’s still a … presence … for me. She’s still present.”

Michael watches her, nods in understanding, though Tilly’s gaze is still directed elsewhere. 

“We all, we all miss somebody, I know,” Tilly sighs. A moment later, she shakes her head, refocuses her gaze on Michael. The two of them talk about this stuff, sometimes, but mostly in broad terms. Generalities gesturing toward what it means to transplant your life and your work across centuries. For still-fiercely-private Michael, she’s just as happy to keep it at this level. She knows Tilly might be inclined to delve deeper, but understands her friend refrains at least in part out of care for Michael’s feelings. It is because of Michael, because they wouldn’t let her make the trip alone, that Discovery’s crew is in this position, marooned 900 years beyond their original timeline. Tilly knows Michael feels the weight of this, of losses that are not only her own but that belong to all who made the journey with her. Tilly hasn’t wanted to do anything, say anything, that might increase the burden on her friend. 

But Ash’s arrival has changed things. Tilly knew about Michael and Ash almost before there was anything to know, she’d never been shy about offering advice to Michael, certainly not in this one area – romantic relationships – where her experience surpassed that of her friend.

“I still don’t understand why he didn’t come, Michael. It just … it just doesn’t make any sense. He loved you, what was there for him to stay for?” Tilly sees her friend’s face tighten, though whether this is a prelude to a closing off or a crumbling is not clear. She should probably stop talking, but Tilly has never really believed there are all that many things better left unsaid. 

“You don’t have to explain, maybe you don’t even know, but I just can’t figure it out.” Tilly shakes her head, gestures with her empty hands. “He had nothing left, only duty to Section 31 and love for you. I don’t understand how he stayed behind, how he chose duty.”

Michael sits quietly on the bed opposite Tilly, letting her friend’s words wash over her. She knows no one else who would put these questions to her, questions she lives with herself. She inhales, lets it out slowly. She understands Tilly doesn’t require an answer, maybe doesn’t even expect one. But Michael has one, and in the context of their friendship, in the aftermath of her friend’s injuries, she will share it. 

“He didn’t, Tilly. He didn’t.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Ash!” Tilly walks right up to him on entering the briefing room, still a bit unsteady on her feet but determined to contribute to efforts to pick up her mission where she unfortunately left off. “Thank you. You know, for, uh, for saving my life.” At this last, she draws up beside him, puts her hand on his arm. 

Michael sees Ash’s eyes soften, a smile pull across his face before he draws her into a gentle hug. “Tilly. I’m glad you are doing better.” Michael continues to watch them both, admiring the ease with which they move back and forth between the professional and the personal. Knowing innately when each mode was appropriate, necessary. They’d both been her teachers in that, each in their own way penetrating through Michael’s formidable walls, inviting Michael to share something more of herself, at least with them. Michael retains a reputation for bravery, but she knows her willingness to take certain sorts of chances, to put herself out there in the ways that come the least naturally to her, derives from her interactions with these two. 

Owosekun and Saru are already arrayed around the briefing table. Michael joins them, and Ash and Tilly follow. Everyone begins to quiet, to focus on the task at hand: to plan next moves in the effort to recover the specs for Po’s incubator.

“Thank you all for being here,” Ash begins. He is positioned to the right of Captain Saru’s seat at the head of the briefing table, though it is rapidly becoming apparent who will actually be leading the meeting. “I understand you’ve been briefed on the some of the constraints bearing on what we’ll be talking about today. Starfleet has expanded general order one to apply not just to engagements with pre-warp civilizations, but also to bind the actions of those venturing beyond their own moment in the time stream. In this respect, Discovery has been classified as native to the 32nd century. While clearly I’m already in violation of the time directive, it is incumbent on all of us to keep time contamination to a minimum.”

Saru follows up on Ash’s words by addressing his officers in the room: Michael, Tilly, Owosekun. “All of what you hear is to be considered confidential. All elements of the mission on which we will embark are to be shared only on a strict need-to-know basis. We might ourselves as individuals not have sworn to uphold this new time directive, but if the federation has adopted it since our departure, we as a crew will strive to maintain it.” Michael thinks how, in another time, one in which the Federation and its disciplinary protocol wasn’t so diminished, Saru might have punctuated his statement with reference to the prospect of court martial. 

Ash begins by laying out what had brought him here, briefly running through the explanations he had offered days before to Saru and Michael. He engages thoughtfully with questions from Tilly and Owosekun, considering his replies carefully, skirting information he feels cannot be divulged, and tactfully moving the exchanges in productive directions. He looks in turn to everyone around the table, soliciting contributions in instances where their particular areas of expertise are most relevant. His light touch, his ability to both direct a group and situate himself among its members, is striking. Particularly in contrast with the jagged edges he’d displayed in the months after the revelations about his wartime transformations at the hands of the Klingons, where his anger at everything, at everyone – especially himself – had complicated many of his interactions. 

Ash had always been a leader, both in professional contexts as a Starfleet security chief and in interpersonal situations. As torchbearer to the Klingon Chancellor L’Rell, he’d also been obliged to seek to mould thinking, to inspire loyalty when possible, to silence dissent when necessary. But, watching him today, remembering what she’d known from before, Michael sees changes. His style is quieter now, turning on careful listening and reflective pauses as much as on command and charisma. 

The new leadership style is, if anything, more effective. Michael sees her crewmates nodding, responding to the information he lays before them and engaging with the mission they are planning together. She herself makes contributions, feels drawn in to a collaborative effort with a thoroughness that is, still, unusual for her. 

It was Tilly who offered the key insights, determined to build on her experiences on the planet. “I know there were lots of reasons it made sense for me to track down Po’s book on my own,” she says, “but I think doing it alone was entirely the problem. Po has created an automated defence system that can readily be defeated, but only by two people working together. She was the queen, but she was also kind of an anti-monarchist, uncomfortable with absolute power vested in one person. I think, I think that as long as we send down a pair, we won’t have any trouble accessing the shrine.”

It sounds unlikely to Michael, that the solution might involve not fancy strategy or advanced technology, but something as straightforward as working together. However, Ash is nodding. “What I observed is consistent with what Tilly is saying. Po’s defences were effective but simple and I didn’t see any evidence the warlords have amped things up,” he says. 

Gradually, the plan takes shape. Given her injuries and the changed scope of the mission, Tilly will remain aboard Discovery. Michael and Ash will beam down to the planet in another attempt to retrieve the book. They will return to Discovery aboard the shuttle Ash has left planet-side. And then Ash will depart for the 23rd century, taking with him the specs for Po’s incubator.

The meeting draws to a close and people leave the room at various paces, some moving expeditiously to begin work on their assigned tasks, some lingering to discuss the mission’s finer points. Ash stands with Owosekun, running through the details of transport down to the planet. 

Michael is the last to leave the table. She’d helped shape the mission, contributing a perspective that built on her extensive away-mission experience. She is pleased to be going down herself, always glad to have important tasks in her own hands and relieved Tilly will stay out of danger on the ship. Just as the meeting was wrapping up, it occurred to Michael that, though she’d been struck by Ash’s impressive leadership style, it wasn’t completely new to her. There was a familiarity to it. She’d seen it before, at another time, in another universe. At a table full of Tellarites, Vulcans, Andorians, and Orions. An unlikely collection of species that, in a moment of crisis, had all looked to a pale Klingon for inspiration, guidance, and protection.


	6. Chapter 6

The door chimes. Ash knows Saru has put the ship’s complement on direct order to minimize contact with him in a bid to limit time contamination. Even if that wasn’t the case, there was really only one person who would be at his door. 

“Michael.” He greets her at the door with a small smile, steps aside to allow her to enter. She moves forward before turning to face him. Just to be near her once more, both in time and in space, is something he’s long tried to keep from imagining. The moment in the turbolift, his hand on her face, both of them breathing the same air, was almost overwhelming, an experience kept in check only by their imminent arrival on the bridge. He doesn’t know what to do without the crutch of duty, doesn’t really understand the lineaments of their relationship, doesn’t know what’s changed for her or maybe even for him. But still, there’s really only one way to start, only one uncomplicated thing to say. “It’s good to see you.”

Michael greets his words with small nod, leaving unclear, at least to Ash, the question of whether she’s acknowledging what he’s said or indicating a shared sentiment. Ash feels his own uncertainties in the space between them. He feels like rushing through an extended explanation of his decision a year ago to stay in the 23rd century, of elaborating on his conflicted feelings both at that time and since. He wants to ask what the past year has meant for her, what she’s seen and experienced. How she and the rest of the crew have coped and adapted, maybe touching on Doctor Culber in particular. He wants to tell her what the past year has meant for him, how he’s kept on trying to figure out how to do good things, how to be of service. How he’s made some headway, he thinks, in the difficult, ongoing work of reclaiming his life. Under the press of all of this, he says none of it. 

But he knows what not to do. “Michael, it’s all classified. Hell, as you know, I’m not even supposed to be in touch with any of you – I’m already fully in violation of the time directive, which is supposed to keep us from messing with the time stream. But whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you. Whether it’s about my mission, about Starfleet, the 23rd century, whatever.” Or about me, he adds silently. He’s still with Section 31, still bound by the same rules and loyalties that stood between them when he returned to Discovery under Leland’s command. But as a human with Klingon parts, as the commander of Section 31, as the consummate internal outsider, he’s learned to navigate competing imperatives, to sail through cross breezes, to weigh the choices as they come. The burdens of command, whether of Section 31 or of a starship, he supposes. Something he knows Michael, even if not yet a captain, understands all too well. 

Michael pulls her eyes away from his face and walks toward the windows in the guest quarters he’s been assigned. She takes his words for what they are – an open hand, an offering. One sincerely made, an offer she can cash in, but one extended with the understanding that she probably won’t.

About this, he is correct. Michael is a scientist at heart, one who studies alien cultures and quantum physics with equal fascination, equal persistence. To decline to seek knowledge, to refuse to solicit more information, doesn’t come naturally to her. But it had been one of the hard lessons of the red angel business, of the revelations about her mother and about her parents’ deaths – knowing more doesn’t always produce clarity, doesn’t necessarily make things easier. She’d misspoken to Ash, all those months ago, offered a prescription she couldn’t quite swallow herself. She doesn’t trust the mystery, but she’s learned to abide it. 

Michael shakes her head, confirming her refusal of his offer to share classified information, to answer her many questions. But her gentle smile at him makes clear she accepts the larger offering – the faith, the loyalty, the duty he pledges to her. All of which, to his continued regret, he had once declined to offer her in the mess hall, hiding his own jagged edges behind the confidentiality provisions of Section 31. All of which, overcome with anger and grief, she had once refused to accept in a turbolift after Airiam’s death. But all of which had nevertheless been there to be accessed when needed, when circumstances were dire and time was short. There is now, as there had long been, an open channel between them, more important in itself than in whatever flows or does not flow along it. 

Ash walks up to the window, stands beside her, looks down at the planet they will tomorrow visit together. 

“We’ll complete our mission. And then you’ll go back.” As she speaks, Michael looks at him. Words and gaze flat, establishing the bounds of what lies between them, what there is and what there can be. 

He nods, sighs. She steps forward, into his arms. He cradles her against his chest, surprised as ever at her small size, so incongruous with her powerful presence on a starship’s bridge, with the space she continues to occupy in his life. After a moment, he loosens his grip and slides his hands up to face. Presses his lips to her forehead, speaks in a thin voice. 

“I’m sorry, Michael. I wish it was different.” He doesn’t mean his upcoming departure, not really. There’s so much more. 

“I know. I’m sorry, too.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Be careful, Commanders. We need you back, and, apparently, so does the 23rd century.” Saru is in the transporter room to see them off, Owosekun at the transporter controls, ready to set them down just outside the transporter jamming zone. They’ve all done their best to minimize time contamination, to keep their activities on a need-to-know basis, but for Michael at least, it has become increasingly difficult to distinguish between the right timeline and the one she wants to inhabit. The mycelial network has been described as a forest, a woods rich with possibility and dark with complexity. Michael thinks about how this isn’t just a metaphor, at least not when the roots and branches are understood to twine through time as well as space. 

Michael acknowledges her Captain’s words with a brisk nod, joins Ash on the transporter pad. They crouch down, clad in tactical gear, hands on their holsters. They trade a quick look before sweeping their eyes up ahead as they draw their phasers and dematerialize. 

Based on descriptions from both Tilly and Ash, Michael knows what to expect of the landscape of Xahea. Boulders of uncanny size obscuring site lines, large organic structures like trees angling up and around them. Sinuous pathways – traced by what? by whom? – tracking through an understory that is by turns open, by turns overgrown. Where apparent, the sky above them is a pale, clear blue. It’s all new to Michael but also comfortingly familiar, as are many inhabitable planets to those who spend their time in space. 

Instinctively, on rematerializing, they back up to a boulder, tracking their eyes and their phasers over the terrain before them. “Clear,” Michael indicates. She glances at Ash, who nods his confirmation. She holsters her weapon and pulls out a tricorder, sweeps it around. 

“The structure likely containing Po’s book is about seven kilometres to our left, the shuttle five kilometres in that same direction,” Michael reports. The plan is to deal with the shuttle first, ensure it is functioning. They will then go after the book, defeating the shrine’s defences before, hopefully, securing the specs. It’s then a sprint back to the shuttle and a rapid departure for Discovery. The mission is projected to last through an entire round of the planet’s day/night cycle because the shuttle lies within the most expansive portion of the irregularly-shaped transporter jamming zone that centres on the shrine. Ash had placed the shuttle within the jamming zone deliberately, using it as a form of cover, but the result is that he and Michael have a long walk ahead. 

“Let’s get moving, then,” Ash says, advancing toward a pathway leading in more or less the desired direction. Michael falls in behind him, eyes regularly flickering toward the tricorder and then back the way they had come, tracking their progress and watching for approaching hostiles. 

It’s early morning on Xahea, the air cool. Ash sets a moderate pace, phaser still out to guard against unpleasant surprises. Beyond her frequent looks behind them and at the tricorder, Michael finds herself glancing at Ash’s back more often than is strictly necessary. As they continue to make steady progress, Michael realizes why. Because of their respective training and experience, they had both been assigned to multiple away missions while serving under Gabriel Lorca on Discovery. Many of these missions had also served to catalyze Ash’s flashbacks, his trauma, as they had thought of it before the full-scale emergence of Voq aboard the ISS Shenzhou. In retrospect, Michael realizes how much of the stiffness she’d observed in him during these missions, tension she had attributed to the missions themselves, had in fact been due to his internal struggles, to his failing efforts to hold on to himself in defiance of the physical and psychological transformations that had been forced on him. To see Ash move through the forest on this unfamiliar planet, alert but loose, easily in command of himself and the situation, is, Michael realizes, to see him more clearly. 

Ash glances back at her while pushing through some brush, his eyes steady, asking “we doing okay, Commander?” A question that can be taken to relate to Michael’s navigating, though she knows he means it more broadly. She meets his question with a tight smile, a forward flick of her head. Onward. 

They continue to advance quietly, meeting no resistance. A few hours along, Ash turns back and announces softly, “we’re almost at the shuttle.” The vessel is nestled in a small clearing, shielded on three sides by the planet’s characteristic large boulders. Dangling vegetation provides some cover on the open side while still allowing for a take-off with some forward motion. The parking job of a consummate pilot. 

The two of them close in on the shuttle, surveying the exterior before proceeding inside. An hour’s work by them both confirms all systems remain functional, suitable for the quick getaway that will, ideally, follow the retrieval of the specs. With that determined, today’s objectives fully realized, Ash seats himself on the passenger bench alongside the shuttle’s inside side wall, long legs casually akimbo. “So all that’s left now is to recover an ancient book, escape a hostile planet by shuttle, and successfully connect with Discovery at a safe distance. Oh, and then we’ll both of us use the book’s information to save the Federation twice over, some 900 years apart from each other.” The corners of Ash’s mouth tip up, his eyes sparkle. “Easy.”

Michael sinks down to the bench opposite him and meets his smile. “Easy.” She bends over, opening her pack, and pulls out nutrition cubes for both of them. Darkness is gathering outside the shuttle’s windows, providing even more cover for the already well-concealed ship, increasing their sense of safety, of insulation from the universe beyond. 

“Please tell me these are not from the supplies Discovery brought to the future, that the 32nd century has come up with something better by way of compact non-perishables?” Grimacing at her answering head shake, Ash nevertheless breaks off a chunk. He seems to consider popping it in his mouth before putting the lot down on the bench beside him. “C’mon. There’ll be a sunset of some sort out there,” he says, reaching for her hand. Setting aside her own cube, Michael follows him out of the shuttle. 

In the few night/day cycles he spent on Xahea prior to his rescue of Tilly, Ash became accustomed to spending an hour or so each evening on a ridge in one of the boulders shielding the shuttle. Considering the other boulders and the surrounding vegetation, the ridge was well-concealed from any eyes on the ground and it offered a mostly unobscured view of the night sky. Xahea didn’t seem to offer the most spectacular of sunsets, but for those who live among the stars, observing them from a planet is always a treat. 

Ash leads Michael to an easy climb and sees her up safely before returning to the shuttle for the sleeping cover from his overnight gear. He tosses it up to her, explaining how he’s found the evenings to cool off quickly. He then scales the boulder, emerging to find she’s spread the blanket across the ridge, cushioning where they come to sit side by side, their backs to the rock, their eyes to the stars. The sky darkens further, more stars appear. But all Ash can think about is the woman sitting next to him with her face tipped skyward. 

There’s still so much unsaid, but within the deepening dark, under the press of time, none of it seems to matter all that much. He twists on the ridge, pulling his back off the rock, facing her. He waits for her to lower her gaze to him. When she does, her lips move, framing his name. “I know,” he says gently, creeping closer along the ridge, a hand coming up to trace along her face. He brings his lips to hers, so soft, the gentlest brush. It’s Michael who leans in, who squares her body toward his, who takes command. His hand slipping down her back, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders, cup his jaw. Her movements are assured, possessive, and he loves it all. Coming to her knees, she further deepens their kiss, her tongue a pressure to which he’s only too happy to yield. 

The ridge isn’t big, and when it comes to seem entirely too small, they return to the shuttle, spread the blanket along the small vessel’s floor. He lies down, pulls her on top of him, her muscular frame a delicious weight. She props up on an elbow, running her other hand through his hair and down along his beard. He nuzzles in to her palm, his tongue finding her life line, the tender webbing between thumb and finger. 

Eventually, her hand floats down and his trails up along her side, eliciting soft sounds from them both. His fingers locate the zipper at the neck of her tactical uniform, his eyes seeking hers in confirmation. A nod and he tugs downward. 

This isn’t the first time, but it’s different now than it was on the ISS Shenzhou, when he was both more and less than himself, seeking refuge in her from all he feared the most. Now, he’s focused on her, entirely on her, on how it feels to bring their bodies together, to see her respond to him as she does. To hear her say his name and to know exactly what she means. To find a clearing in the forest, if only for a moment.


	8. Chapter 8

On Xahea, the sunrises are infinitely more impressive than the sunsets. Michael and Ash agree on this even as they take precisely no time to do anything beyond register the observation, both of them fully focused on preparing for the next stage in their mission. 

Today they will make their way to the shrine, tackle its defences, secure the specs, return to the shuttle, and then rendezvous with Discovery. Hopefully. It’s no small order, both of them recognize this, but Ash is clearly more sanguine than Michael, his optimism turning in part on what he observed in the week or so he had spent on the planet before rescuing Tilly. 

“The warlords are actually really bad with technology,” Ash says, echoing discussions they’ve already had aboard Discovery. “They’re scavengers, thieves, not developers or even skilled users.” 

Michael knows this. That’s why Discovery has been able to orbit unobserved for weeks – the warlords have but a poor grasp on how to operate planet-based scanners. That’s why Tilly could repeatedly beam in and out without detection as she tried to determine where Po had hidden her book. That’s why Michael and Ash expect to just make a run for it in the shuttle, once they have the specs in hand. Hopefully, hopefully, the warlords won’t even get their ships scrambled in time to have a legitimate chance at interception. 

“Tilly got in trouble trying to access the shrine mostly because she was operating alone. We’re together and we’re building on what we learned from her experiences and my observations,” Ash said, meeting Michael’s eyes. “Like Tilly told us, Queen Po didn’t necessarily want to keep people from getting the specs, but she didn’t want the specs to fall into the hands of just one person. We’re two people, we’re clever,” a wide smile spreads across his face, “we can do this.”

Ash isn’t sure himself where all this comes from, hopes it comes off as confidence, not bravado. The truth is, being with Michael again helps him feel like anything is possible and he wants her to feel the same. “C’mon,” he says, getting to his feet, thinking they’ll both benefit from less talk, more action, “let’s get going.”

Michael nods and pulls out her tricorder. She uses it to confirm the direction to the shrine and then they are underway. 

It takes them a few hours to approach the shrine. Gradually, as they get closer, the forest thins out and the large boulders become less common. When Michael calls ahead to Ash, signaling they are about 150 metres from their destination, they pull up. Ash briefly reviews the plan: “if we are right about this, the key is to approach from two different directions but within sight of each other. One of us will be attacked and the other will assist.”

Michael nods, committed to proceeding as planned even if she is not entirely confident in the plan. Once again, she wishes that she, not Tilly, had been down on the planet before, wishes she’d had a chance to survey the scene herself and make her own judgements. Despite her misgivings, she moves away from Ash until they can approach the shrine at a 90 degree angle from each other. A nod between them and they begin their advance, crouched low, phasers at the ready.

About twenty metres from the shrine, energy weapons discharge toward their feet, the source of the fire not immediately obvious. Within a moment, however, three floating orbs appear before Michael. They begin to pepper the ground around her with fire, which Ash recognizes as his signal to assist. It’s the cue he’d missed with Tilly, not becoming involved until the situation escalated to her being directly targeted. He squares himself toward the orbs and squeezes off three quick phaser blasts. 

But things don’t play out as he expects. He hit the orbs straight on, but rather than exploding, they seem to absorb the energy. One spins, zooms toward him at an incredible speed. A moment later, a new type of energy issues from two of the orbs, entrapping both he and Michael in something akin to a tractor beam. The third orb then directs a new type of energy at Michael, perhaps a scanner of sorts. After a moment, it disengages, spins toward Ash, and zooms up alongside the orb holding him motionless. It directs at Ash what appears to be the same scan to which Michael had been subject, though his scan lasts far longer. In these minutes, the forest seems as still as the entrapped Ash and Michael, time hinging on whatever process the orbs were conducting. 

Eventually, suddenly, all energy beams are disengaged. The orbs zoom back toward the shrine. 

Mobility restored, Ash tracks them with his phaser until they vanish. Michael moves up beside him, eyes also following the orbs, asking, “You okay?” Ash responds with a quick nod. This hasn’t gone according to plan. He’d anticipated they would just destroy the orbs, hadn’t foreseen whatever scan business they’d encountered, but, for the moment at least, there seem no further barriers between them and the shrine. They share a look before advancing together, phasers at the ready. 

After Ash’s week of observation, after Tilly’s ambush, after their own experience of moments ago, what happens next seems profoundly anticlimactic. They make their way up to the shrine, open what appears to be a fairly aged air-tight door, and enter a nearly empty room. In the centre of the room is a table. On the table, under a transparent protective cover, are arrayed a number of items: a padd, a couple varieties of computer chips, a few other items Ash can’t identify, and a book. 

Michael and Ash trade a glance before advancing toward the table. Michael’s eyes skip across the assortment of items. “These are all the same thing,” she says, seemingly incongruously. “Each of these record the specs we need. The Queen wanted to increase the likelihood of the information’s survival by using every possible recording technology she could access.” Michael gestures toward some of the technologies unfamiliar to Ash, explaining she’d come across them since arriving in the 32nd century. She removes the cover, grabs what Ash recognizes as a 23rd century computer chip, and inserts it in to the end of her tricorder. Her eyes move as she absorbs the information displayed on her device’s screen. 

“There’s a written message from Queen Po. These various devices do preserve the specs, just as expected. Po says … she says we were allowed to access them, to move past the orbs, because we, she means you and I, together reflect how she thinks dilithium should be used. As fuel for the warp technology that facilitates collaboration and communication among …” Michael’s voice fades out briefly, her eyes flit from the screen toward Ash. She swallows before continuing, but when she does, her voice is clear and strong, “… among different species.”

Ash absorbs this. So it wasn’t just that two people were needed to get past the orbs, but that two different species were required. He gives something like a dry chuckle and looks away, commenting, “I guess that explains the scans.” 

Ash doesn’t really know what to do with this new development. These days, he doesn’t spend much time on the seemingly intractable question of what he is. In the aftermath of the departure of Michael and Discovery, focusing on doing, rather than being, seemed the only way forward. He isn’t over what was done to him, the events themselves or the long shadow of trauma they cast over his life. But he also isn’t accustomed, these days, to confronting it. In the 23rd century day to day, he often feels better, even believes he is better. And yet, here it is, at the centre of the mission, the keystone in two separate efforts to save the Federation. Laid out before he and Michael once more. 

She’s looking at him, eyes clear and focused. He’s exposed, still cracked open in ways he’s tried so hard to patch over. And there’s nothing to be done about it. He takes a deep breath and meets her gaze for a long moment. Eventually, he turns to the door in what he hopes passes for decisiveness. “We’d better get going. I’m not in the mood for any more surprises,” he adds, aiming for a levity he does not feel. 

Their long hike back to the shuttle is quiet, as is their departure from Xahea. The warlords’ technological naiveté is breathtaking in its own way, Ash thinks, as he uneventfully pilots the shuttle beyond the planet’s atmosphere and sets a course for the planned rendezvous point. 

As soon as they are within range, Michael establishes communication with Discovery. When she reports their success, Saru and the rest of the crew are pleased, even ecstatic. Mission success is a rare thing for Discovery’s crew in the 32nd century, given that determining exactly what they should be doing is often as difficult as pulling off whatever they choose to do. 

Before long, Discovery appears on the viewscreen, growing ever larger as they approach. The quiet between Ash and Michael increases in weight as their time alone, their time together, draws to a close. That’s how Ash experiences it, anyway; he doesn’t know what Michael is thinking, what she’s feeling. And it seems like asking, whether with his eyes or his words, would be a draw on her he’s not entitled – or maybe just not willing – to make. 

In the end, it is she who reaches for him. “Ash.” Michael meets his eyes as he turns toward her. Her gaze then flits nervously away, bouncing around the control panel before her, the shuttle around them, the stars on the viewscreen ahead. A breath. “I love you.”

Ash’s eyes widen. “You’ve never said it that way before.”

“No, I guess not,” Michael acknowledges. She holds his gaze, calm and steady now. “But you’ve known.”

Knowing is not easy, not for him. There’s no clear answer to the question of what he is, of who he is. Of where he belongs and who belongs to him. But there are things he does know. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I have.” Ash looks over at her, feels his mouth pull into a smile, slow and gentle.


	9. Chapter 9

The shuttle bay is empty. Discovery’s reduced crew complement means it is staffed only on an as-needed basis. Today, it’s just Michael and Ash, his reconditioned shuttle, and the vastness of space beyond the shuttle bay doors. If only space was indeed the final frontier. 

Ash completes his pre-flight inspection, ensures the incubator specs have been successfully uploaded and backed up, while Michael programs the launch sequence into the shuttle bay controls. Both of them finding comfort in their familiar tasks, their shared mission. 

All too soon, the work is complete. Coming around the shuttle a final time, Ash slows his pace, allows his gaze to move around the large, mostly-empty space. Perhaps unsurprisingly for a pilot, he’s always loved shuttle bays. Such a utilitarian part of a starship, but essential for its functioning. A portal, an open channel, a passageway that, by its mere existence, makes things possible. 

“Ready when you are, Commander.” Michael’s words are formal, professional, but her voice is soft, intimate, calibrated to draw him close. 

Ash can’t imagine resisting. It’s only when he’s right beside her station that she lifts her eyes to his. “How many times are we going to do this,” she says. There have been a lot of goodbyes between them already, that’s true, but he knows that’s not what Michael means. Her tone is the mirror universe version of disconsolate. She’s thinking not of the past but of the future, of time crystals and time travel and the as-yet-unscripted days ahead. Of wormholes and open channels. Of a clearing in the forest. 

“Michael.” That’s all he can say. Ash thinks of the wide dark sky on a planet called Pahvo, of a kiss in an unknowable alternate timeline become foundational to his life, of the 900 years they’ve each crossed and may cross again. He presses his lips to her forehead, to her mouth, feels her small hand cradle the back of his head. He bites his lip and tips his eyes downward as he eventually pulls away. He walks past her to the shuttle, determined that, this time, he will not look back. 

He climbs the ramp to the shuttle, finds his seat, straps himself in. She opens the shuttle bay doors, and he goes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Chapter Eight And A Half](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395460) by [5354dandelion1134](https://archiveofourown.org/users/5354dandelion1134/pseuds/5354dandelion1134)




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